


you don't hate me

by montygreenbean (bottomoftheocean)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bellarke, F/M, Oneshot, Really she does, but bellamy is stupidly attractive, but she hates him she swears it, clarke hates bellamy, minty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 03:29:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14685498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottomoftheocean/pseuds/montygreenbean
Summary: "you don't hate me. quit lying to yourself."-Clarke Griffin hated Bellamy Blake. Especially the way he smirked at her when he knew he was getting under her skin, and caused her insides to go all fluttery and her stomach to do flips.She really, really hated Bellamy Blake.Until, of course, she didn't.





	you don't hate me

**Author's Note:**

> hey pals! here's another little bellarke fic for you :)
> 
> as always, characters are not mine! they belong to the cw and kass morgan, though i do love being able to write them :)
> 
> (oh and a disclaimer; i decided to change the tense from present to past halfway through, so if i missed a tense error, please let me know!!)
> 
> i hope you enjoy! <3

Clarke Griffin hated Bellamy Blake.

She hated him more than she’d ever hated anyone before. Even Finn, after she walked in on him fucking that brunette and he called her the wrong name -- which was also not the other girl’s name -- therefore alerting them both that Finn had not two, but _three_ girlfriends (until that day, when he very quickly went from three to zero).

The thing with Bellamy was that he’d never really done anything to constitute such complete and utter hatred, except for the fact that Clarke found his personality generally insufferable, and they couldn’t be in the same room for more than five minutes without one of them finding _something_ to say that would piss the other off. Clarke didn’t like being angry, and she felt like that was the only emotion she had when he was around. So she hated him by default.

She would rather have just avoided him as much as possible and pretended that Bellamy Blake didn’t exist. But of course, that was rather hard, since he was part of her friend group. It seemed like he was always there, no matter what she did to try and get away from him.

And it also didn’t help that his stupid lopsided smirk -- the one he always got when he knew he was about to get under her skin -- made her stomach do somersaults in ways she preferred not to think about.

She just hated him. So damn much.

-

Clarke sat on the couch in her apartment with her feet tucked under her and her roommate Monty on the other end of the couch. He was in the middle of lamenting about his crush on Nate Miller and how “he’s on the way here, what if I fuck something up?” over an episode of Cake Wars when the doorbell rang. Monty nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound, toppling over onto the floor. He looked up at Clarke, wide-eyed, and whispered, “That’s him! Go get the door!”

Clarke did so as Monty scrambled up off the floor and tried way too hard to look casual -- really, Clarke wondered how Miller hadn’t guessed that Monty was half in love with him. She opened the door just as a fist was about to knock on it again, and she looked to see not only Miller standing in the hallway, but Bellamy as well.

Please, Miller, come in,” she said coolly, purposely not acknowledging Bellamy (wow, she _really_ hated him), “Monty’s in the living room.” As he walked down the hall, Clarke whipped back around and finally addressed the other man at her door. “What are _you_ doing here?”

He smirked, and Clarke’s insides definitely did _not_ flip-flop at the sight. “Whoa there, Princess, calm down.” Clarke’s teeth clenched at the use of the nickname she despised so much. Bellamy ignored it, pulling her into the hall and shutting the door. “Just thought you might want some company while Monty and Miller definitely don’t finally get their shit together and hook up.”

Clarke thought about asking why he didn’t call his sister to come keep her company instead, but then registered the weight of his words and thought better of it. “Wait, what? Miller likes Monty too?” Her mouth gaped open.

“Not like it was really a secret,” Bellamy said. “I thought everyone knew but Monty. Apparently I was wrong.”

“Oh, come on, Bellamy,” Clarke scoffed, “it’s not like I spend much time with Miller. You’re the one who lives with him, of course you knew about it. Monty, on the other hand, goes on long-winded rants about Miller’s damn _eyelashes_ at least once a week.” Clarke didn’t add that she probably thought about Bellamy’s mouth at least that often -- that, she pushed to the back of her mind, because she hated Bellamy, and Monty had the biggest crush on Miller, and those were very much not the same feelings.

“I’ve heard more than enough of the same long-winded rants about Monty, trust me,” Bellamy said. “Anyway, we should probably quit loitering in your hallway, shouldn’t we, Princess?”

Clarke bristled again at the nickname, but pushed the irritation down and turned to open the door. The knob didn’t turn. “Well, that would be a fantastic idea if you hadn’t locked us out of the apartment, you idiot.”

“Do you not have your key?” he asked.

“Please, tell me why I would have my key on me to open the door and let someone into the apartment. I wasn’t expecting to be dragged into my hallway by some asshole who decided to show up uninvited!”

“Well, excuse me for thinking you’d need a distraction from your roommate making out with someone in the next room.”

“Even if I did need some company, why would you ever think _you_ were a good option?”

“Because, Clarke, I thought that maybe when there weren’t other people around, you’d stop being absorbed in whatever you _think_ this is for long enough to realize that you’ve gone overboard with this whole ‘I hate Bellamy’ shtick,” Bellamy yelled, spitting the words right in her face.

Clarke groaned. “You’re insufferable, Bellamy! Get your head out of your damn ass for one second and you might see that I actually do hate you. Not everyone loves you, as much as you might have it in your pretty little head that we all do.”

She was caught completely off guard when, in the next moment, Bellamy started to chuckle.

“What the hell, Bellamy?” she demanded.

He looked down at her with a true smile -- not the smirk she was used to being directed at her -- and if she thought the smirk affected her, this was a completely different feeling she didn’t quite recognize. She felt tingles course through her entire body, all the way to her toes. She couldn’t ignore this like she ignored the way her stomach twisted.

“You don’t hate me. Quit lying to yourself.”

“What are you talking about? I think I’d know better than you if I hated someone or not. And besides, you’re the worst kind of asshole, of course I hate you.”

“Clarke,” Bellamy said, “you don’t hate me. If you hated me, you wouldn’t find every available opportunity to pick a fight with me. Knowing you, you wouldn’t even let me in your apartment, even if it was a group thing.”

“Bellamy,” Clarke said, mimicking his tone, “you pick half the fights with me, and if I didn’t let you into my apartment for ‘group things,’ your sister would murder me in my sleep.”

His smile only grew wider. “If you hated me, you wouldn’t have been staring at my mouth for the last five minutes. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Clarke’s heart dropped into her stomach, which yes, was still flipping every which way at the sight of the smile which refused to leave Bellamy’s face. How had he noticed? How had she _not_?

“Kind of hard not to,” she mumbled, “when it’s at eye level.”

Bellamy crowded closer, smile finally disappearing from his face. Clarke found that where she should have minded -- should have been rather pissed off, actually -- she very much did not. The tingling sensation returned as he boxed her in against the door.

“Quit lying to yourself,” he repeated, speaking low and soft. “You might think you hate me, but I bet you’d be thrilled if I kissed you right now.”

Never one to back down from a challenge, especially not one from Bellamy Blake, Clarke said, “Why don’t you try it and find out?”

The smirk returned, playing across his lips again as he leaned down and captured Clarke’s lips with his own. His fingers splayed out across her hips as hers gripped at the fabric of his shirt, drawing him as close as she could.

After a long few moments, Bellamy pulled back, leaving Clarke breathless with her back still pressed against the door and her hands still fisted in his button-down.

“Okay, fine,” she said, breaking the silence and the spell that had come along with it, “maybe I don’t hate you as much as I wanted to.”

“That’s what I thought, Princess,” he said with a smile. And when Clarke felt her stomach do another somersault, she could no longer find it in her to ignore it, nor to be irritated by the nickname. “Now what do you say we interrupt our lovebird friends so they can let us back into the apartment?”

Clarke nodded, and with another quick press of her lips to Bellamy’s, removed her hands from his torso and slipped out from in front of the door.

He looked down at the wrinkles left behind and chuckled. “You’re responsible for ironing this, I hope you know.”

Now that she no longer hated him, Clarke felt much less ashamed when she thought (and subsequently said aloud), “I’ll definitely iron the shirt if it means you’re not wearing it anymore.” At the raise of his eyebrows, she decided it was exactly the right thing to say.

Bellamy texted Miller telling him to come let them in, and leaned against the wall to wait. When Monty and Miller came to the door a few minutes later (their own clothes rumpled similarly to Bellamy’s), Clarke had attached her lips to Bellamy’s neck and unbuttoned two of the buttons on his shirt. She had decided not to waste even a second more than she already had when she thought she hated him.

“Jesus, you heathens,” Monty yelped when he opened the door for them. “Get inside before one of the neighbors calls the landlord and gets us kicked out or something.”

And if Miler subtly passed Bellamy a condom on his way in the door, well, Clarke wasn’t saying a word.

If she hated him, she might have called him out on it. But she’d squandered enough of her time away on that.

Clarke Griffin definitely didn’t hate Bellamy Blake. In the end, she didn’t think she ever really had.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked this, please please feel free to leave kudos and comments! i love feedback :)
> 
> ~ mikki <3


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